by Annie Groves
A failure? George? Sally had been so shocked by his sudden outburst that she could only reassure him that he wasn’t a failure, far from it; he was the kindest, most talented doctor she had ever met, to which he had said with a hint of uncharacteristic cynicism that she would think that, wouldn’t she? And no matter how much she tried to coax or even bully him into staying here with her, George could not be persuaded – he had to do it, she knew.
In one way Sally was extremely proud of his sacrifice and in another she wanted to shake some sense into him. However, she had come to realise that she couldn’t stop him doing what he felt was right. That would be beyond selfish, and she couldn’t live with herself if he felt a failure because of what she had said. But it didn’t make their parting yesterday any easier.
‘You do understand, don’t you, darling Sally?’ George had asked before he boarded the train to Devonport in Plymouth to join his ship. She wanted answer no, she didn’t understand, but he kept talking, not letting her tell him how much she would miss him until the very last minute. He was a good man, a caring doctor who was doing an excellent job. He would be an asset to the navy, she knew.
As her scrambled, weary thoughts flickered and waned in the half-light of dusk she saw something, or someone, dart into the vicar’s garden. Sally knew it was strange at this hour for the vicar to be gardening, as he was no longer in the first flush of youth and much preferred to do such work when it was light enough to see properly. And also, she could tell that the person was too small to be an adult.
She stopped and watched for a moment, unsure if whoever it was had seen her and was hiding behind the privet hedge. She waited, not moving, for a while longer and then to her complete surprise she saw young Barney creeping out of the vicar’s garden and, crouching, looking the other way.
‘What are you up to, young Barney?’ Sally demanded, making her voice as stern as possible, although she felt sorry for the kid, who hadn’t had it easy before he was taken in by Sergeant Dawson and his wife.
However, she was worried that Barney was going back to his old ways after seeing him loitering around the underground a few days earlier. It used to be a favourite hangout of his rather dubious older acquaintances and she had to have a little chat with Sergeant Dawson, who told her that Barney was still settling in and he was sure that the boy wasn’t up to anything untoward. Be that as it may, thought Sally, but what child wanders around the neighbourhood this late in the evening? One who was up to no good, that’s who.
‘I wasn’t doing nothing, honest.’ Barney looked the picture of guilt.
‘You weren’t doing “anything”, you mean.’
‘That’s what I said, miss. I was just looking for shrapnel …’ His words dissipated into the evening air as Sally drew alongside him.
‘Does your father know where you are?’
‘I ain’t got no father, miss, he’s lost in the war.’ His grubby face and crumpled pyjamas were a far cry from Mrs Dawson’s usual tidiness, thought Sally.
‘I meant Sergeant Dawson,’ she said patiently. Sally had seen many young lads just like Barney who’d had their childhood stolen from them by the war; they had to grow up fast and take responsibility. Luckily for Barney, the sergeant and his wife had taken pity on him and given him a good home and plenty of care and attention. And this was how he repaid them?
‘I ain’t done nuffin’, miss, you can search me if yer like, I ain’t got nuffin’ I shouldn’t.’
‘I should hope so too, Barney,’ Sally said, giving him the benefit of the doubt, ‘but why are you out at this hour of night in your pyjamas? You should be tucked up in your bed.’
‘I can’t get in, miss,’ Barney said in simple matter-of-fact tones. ‘I ain’t got no key an’ Aunty won’t let me in.’
Sally’s forehead puckered in doubt, as she knew that Mrs Dawson doted on young Barney; he was like a substitute son after the tragic death of her own young boy years earlier.
‘She dragged me out of bed and would you Adam an’ Eve it, she told me I was trespassin’. Frightened the life outta me, she did!’ Barney’s eyes widened and Sally instinctively knew he was telling the truth.
‘Mmm,’ she said, confused. ‘Let’s get you home and see what can be done.’ Barney seemed reluctant at first but Sally persuaded him that he was not in trouble. ‘Your aunt doesn’t sound too well,’ she said, putting her arm around his shoulder, guiding him up the street. It was on the third knock that Mrs Dawson came to the door. Sally could hear her shuffling down the hall like an old lady, but assumed she must only be in her late thirties, much the same age as Olive, she guessed.
‘Ahh, Nurse, you’re here at last,’ Mrs Dawson said, her dull eyes brightening. Then she caught sight of Barney and shooed him off the step. ‘Be off with you, boy, you have no business here. Now go away before I call my husband; he’s a policeman, you know.’
Sally’s eyes took in the woman’s appearance. She was dressed in every stitch of clothing she owned by the looks of it, and it didn’t need Sally’s professional assessment to see that the woman was, perhaps temporarily, not her usual self as she took on a condescending manner in dealing with Barney.
Mrs Dawson looked twice her usual size as dresses and cardigans were piled on top of each other and her dark coat was dragged over the clothing in such a way that she could hardly move her arms. Sally turned to Barney who was sniggering behind her and quickly shushed him with a stern glance.
‘Here, take my key and let yourself into number 13,’ she told him in a low voice. ‘Tell Olive to go to the police station and fetch Sergeant Dawson, he needs to come home urgently. I will explain everything as soon as I can. Now hurry and don’t dawdle around the street, you don’t want Nancy Black seeing you when she’s putting her milk bottles out and complaining again.’
Barney took the key and sped down the street as Sally ushered Mrs Dawson into her front room. When she went to turn on the light the other woman stopped her with a strength that had gone previously undetected.
‘Don’t turn the light on or open those curtains!’ Mrs Dawson’s voice was shrill, making Sally turn towards her. ‘I don’t want them looking in the window.’ She didn’t elaborate on who ‘them’ were. Sally realised that the woman could be very volatile if not handled correctly as Mrs Dawson grabbed her hand and said, ‘They took my baby, you know.’ She was shaking all over, Sally could see. ‘They took my boy! Don’t you see? I’ve got to get away from here! I’ve got to find him quickly!’
‘Who took your boy, Mrs Dawson?’ Sally’s gentle tones brought a little calm and, still in her uniform, her medical expertise came to the fore. By the looks of it, Sally thought, Mrs Dawson was able to recognise that she was here to help her.
‘The Germans. They came in the middle of the night and they stole my boy – and they took my husband too. You’ve got to help me. It’s not safe here any more.’
Sally could see, even in the very dim light of the room, that Mrs Dawson’s eyes were wild and she tried to calm her whilst she still had the other woman’s attention, because any minute now Mrs Dawson might not recognise Sally as someone who was here to comfort her.
‘I knew something like this would happen, I said to my husband that I wanted to move but he wasn’t having any of it – he’s in league with them, you know, he has a uniform and everything. And he keeps a gun. Did you know he keeps a gun? The vicar would be scandalised!’ Sally listened to Mrs Dawson’s rambling with the serenity honed from years of nursing.
‘Shall I make us a nice cup of tea, Mrs Dawson?’ she asked, when Mrs Dawson grew calmer.
‘Who is Mrs Dawson? My name is Miss Teasdale.’ Mrs Dawson looked suspicious. ‘I think you may have me mixed up with somebody else my dear,’ she continued, seeming very lucid. If a stranger was to come in here now, Sally thought, they would possibly believe that Mrs Dawson was Miss Teasdale, such was her conviction. It was all very worrying.
‘I do apologise, maybe you would like a cup instead then, Miss Teasdal
e?’
‘How very kind of you, I’m sure, but I shall wait until my guests arrive and then you may serve tea.’
Sally noted that Mrs Dawson, wearing a mountain of clothing with her arms outstretched, was talking like the lady of the manor – which Sally supposed was half-true as she had done a very good job keeping the house going, even though she was giving the impression of belonging to a more refined Victorian establishment. Sally knew that something had clearly snapped in Mrs Dawson’s vision of reality; she had seen this type of dislocation from the real world since the beginning of the war. Women who had been getting on with their daily routine without a word of rebuke or fuss suddenly could take no more – and it was usually, like now, when things had settled down a bit after the earlier blitz, that they could no longer cope.
‘How is she?’ Sergeant Dawson asked, hurrying into the front room, looking highly embarrassed that his neighbours were witnessing his poor deluded wife behaving like this. ‘She’s been ill for some time,’ Archie said in a low voice to Sally, and to Olive who had come with him after taking the news to the police station. Archie put his arm around his wife, who appeared not to even know him.
‘I think …’ Sally looked doubtful but carried on. ‘In my professional opinion, Mrs Dawson needs more expert care than I could give her.’ Much to her relief a short while later their general practitioner came to give his assessment too.
‘I telephoned him from the station,’ said Archie, shocked to hear that his wife would have to be admitted to hospital for complete rest and recuperation.
‘Don’t worry about Barney,’ said Olive, taking the matter out of Archie’s hands. ‘I’ll make sure he’s well looked after whilst you are busy with other matters.’
‘Thank you, Olive, I won’t forget your kindness,’ Archie said whilst Olive dismissed his grateful thanks with a wave of her hand.
A short while later, after a cup of cocoa and a round of toast, Barney was shown to Dulcie’s bed, as she was on nights at the munitions factory. Olive was sure she wouldn’t mind – especially if nobody told her. And anyway, she silently reasoned, the boy would be up by the time Dulcie got home from work tomorrow.
When she went into the kitchen she was a little surprised to see Sally sitting at the table where she had left her nursing a cocoa cup, her eyes red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.
‘Is something the matter, Sally?’ Olive asked in her gentle tones as she sat at the table.
Sally took a huge breath and said in a short faltering voice, ‘George joined his ship last night.’ She couldn’t continue for a while, and then she said, ‘I’m being silly, I know. Girls are saying goodbye to their chaps every day, I’ve got to be strong.’
Olive listened to Sally and once more cursed this ugly war as she took her handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan and gave her nose a jolly good blow whilst attempting a quivering smile.
‘Oh, Olive, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you too.’
‘You didn’t, Sally.’ Olive’s chin wobbled as she spoke. ‘I’m being silly. It’s the soap shortage and the grey bread and the rise in income tax … and Tilly’s joined the ATS.’
‘Oh, Olive,’ Sally cried, coming to her side and giving her a hug, ‘when will it all end? That’s what I want to know.’
‘You and I, both.’ Olive gave a huge sigh and got up from the table.
‘When will she go?’ Sally asked, knowing George had had to be given special permission to leave the hospital.
‘Three weeks,’ Olive said, her voice wavering, ‘and please don’t be nice to me, that would finish me off altogether.’
Only a Mother Knows
TEN
Tilly’s eyes were still closed as she listened to the hubbub of activity downstairs, to the chatter and sporadic laughter of her mother and Agnes who were probably getting everything ready for this afternoon’s little get-together with the neighbours before she left for her new life in the army. Dulcie was in the next room after her night shift at the munitions factory and Sally was on duty at the hospital, but she would be here at five o’clock this afternoon to see her off, she was sure.
Even though her eyes were still closed Tilly could not stop the build-up of tears behind her lids and she knew that this time tomorrow she would be rising from a different bed surrounded by strangers, and the thought momentarily frightened the life out of her. Apart from the booklet she had been given telling her what she had to bring, and where she had to be at a specific time, she knew nothing of the Auxiliary Training Service except that she liked the look of their glamorous uniform. Tilly wondered if that was enough to change her life forever. She wouldn’t stir to the sound of her mother’s voice gently rousing her from sleep with a welcome cup of tea and her usual breakfast of hot porridge and freshly made toast either.
However Tilly knew that wasn’t the reason her heart was near to breaking, far from it, if the truth be told. She was looking forward to branching out on her own, away from her mother’s ever-watchful eyes, and the more difficult the process was to become a useful member of the Forces the better she would like it. Because then, hopefully, it would take her mind off Drew and his treacherous betrayal. She hadn’t heard a word from him and now, more than ever, she was certain his father had persuaded him not to come back to England or her.
Turning to face the wall before slowly opening her tear-soaked eyes Tilly realised she had done the right thing joining the ATS; it felt good to be doing her bit for the country even if it was for all the wrong reasons. Her mother was capable, stoic and honest and Tilly wanted her mum to be proud of her and not have to witness her daughter dissolving into a gibbering wreck because of a man who freely made false promises.
Tilly knew her thoughts were all over the place, but recognised that the one thing in she was afraid of, especially now, was saying goodbye – she had never been good with it. She couldn’t cope like others seemed able to do, hold her head high and get on with life. No, she clung with magnetic tenacity to the things she held dear, refusing to let go of people who mattered.
But it was futile to even try to rid herself of this painful longing for Drew whilst she still lived at home in the comfort of her friends and family. Every day she hurried to the hallway at the sound of the letter box and fall of envelopes, hoping that one of them was from her beloved Drew. And every day her heart fractured a little more as she found it more difficult to cope here in London.
Tilly knew she had to fill her days with something other than hopes and dreams of her future with Drew. The only thing she could think of was to serve her country. And any moment now her mother would call her to go down for breakfast, and she would pretend everything was fine, like it was just another day, and she would move automatically with practised ease through the day. Tomorrow her new independence would begin.
Tilly watched her mother busying herself, going back and forth with plates of sandwiches covered in damp tea towels from the kitchen to the front room, and imagined she felt the same gnawing pain.
It would be just as difficult for Mum, Tilly realised. They had been so close, much closer than many mothers and daughters; for a long time their lives had revolved around, and depended upon, each other and now that was going to change. And it was all her fault. Mum was trying to put a brave face on it as usual; Tilly knew she would never wear her heart on her sleeve. That just wasn’t Olive’s style.
Tilly admired her mother’s generation of women who’d had to be strong, like women of her own time whose men had been called to war; they kept their fragile feelings to themselves and didn’t fall apart or run away. How things had changed since the beginning of the war, Tilly thought as she folded the clean washing she had just brought in from the garden, and how many more challenges would women like her mother fight to overcome, before the war was over and done with?
All morning Olive had been on the go, whilst knowing Tilly wanted to sit down and talk to her. But it was her way of coping. She had to keep busy to stop her mind dwelling o
n the thought of her daughter leaving home and … Her mind couldn’t even contemplate the thought that Tilly might not come back. It really couldn’t.
The day of Tilly’s departure for ATS training in the Surrey countryside had come all too quickly for Olive’s liking. But then again, she quietly admitted to herself, even if her only daughter had not been called up for another five years, it would still have been too soon.
Olive had decided to hold a small farewell get-together for Tilly, with Dulcie, Sally and Agnes, Sergeant Dawson and not forgetting poor, young Barney, Nancy and her family, a few other selected neighbours – anyone who could take her mind off her daughter’s imminent departure and keep the tears at bay. Nancy’s ten-year-old grandson, Freddy, who was staying for a couple of weeks as Nancy’s daughter was in hospital having her new baby, would also be in attendance.
Mrs Dawson was now recuperating in a country hospital where it was peaceful, away from the bustle of the city, and Olive had suggested to Archie that she would pop in whilst he was at work to make sure everything was as it should be until Mrs Dawson came home. Her mind whirled, then she smiled momentarily as she looked out of the back window, watching the two boys playing war games out in the garden, and realised that Archie had done a wonderful job keeping young Barney in hand lately. Even though his wife had been taken poorly, there weren’t nearly as many complaints about the young lad’s rough-and-ready behaviour of late as there had been when he first came to Article Row – well, not from most people anyway. Nancy was another matter altogether; Olive was certain that the woman would find fault in angels.
True to form, this was the first thing that Nancy mentioned. ‘I hope that Barney boy isn’t too much for my Freddy, he’s not used to any rough-and-tumble and prefers a nice game of chess or a jigsaw puzzle, having been brought up properly.’
‘Yes, Nancy, you have told me,’ Olive sighed patiently, ‘and from what I can see you are right; your daughter has done a marvellous job all on her own. Especially since her husband joined the other millions of men who had the audacity to leave their wives to bring up their children, whilst they went off enjoying themselves saving the country from the hands of dictators!’ Olive took a deep breath whilst Nancy stood open-mouthed and speechless. ‘But playing in the back garden with Barney won’t do Freddy any harm.’